Last week he was a dishwasher who his coworkers called Ricky. Today he’s a day laborer named Eddie, clearing a pair of fallen trees off a new build’s lawn and fixing up a large garden. Rotting plank ripped out, new plank inserted.
Ruth stood on the narrow iron bridge, gripping her father’s obsidian necklace, and wondered how many years it would take before the river wore them both down to nothing.
Nasta, Joe
Joe Nasta is a queer writer and mariner who splits zir time between New York, Seattle, and the Ocean. Zir work has been published or is forthcoming in The Rumpus, Yes Poetry, Peach Mag and others. Ze co-curates a zine of unconventional art and writing at stonepacificzine.com and serve as prose reader for The Adroit Journal. Find Joe on Instagram and twitter @roflcoptermcgee